


Nothing Left But Us

by fierybeams



Category: Glee
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-24
Updated: 2014-10-24
Packaged: 2018-02-22 11:18:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,837
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2505857
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fierybeams/pseuds/fierybeams
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kurt gets a second tattoo. This time, Elliott joins him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Nothing Left But Us

Kurt is squirming next to him, one hand gripping his own knee as the other strokes anxiously up and down his forearm. Elliott, feeling the brush of every restless shift against his side, turns to find him staring down into his lap, a tight smile pinching the corner of his mouth. 

“You okay?” He tries hard not to sound amused, or mocking. He knows that the stakes of sitting in a tattoo parlor are different for Kurt than they are for him, higher, with all his clean edges and that obsessive upkeep of his skin. He’d been surprised to discover, way back when, that Kurt had a tattoo at all, that little odd sketch of text across his back that he’s always seemed incomprehensibly fond of. He’d been even more surprised when Kurt announced that he wanted to get a second one. And now, here they are, seated patiently in dim lighting as Kurt’s tattoo artist ( _Louis_ , Elliott remembers) sketches up the mysterious something to be inked permanently onto Kurt’s skin. 

“I’m fine,” Kurt turns to face him, voice breathless and mouth quirking upwards. “Just a little antsy. There’s a lot riding on this.”  

“You know,” Elliott laughs, bringing a fond hand down onto Kurt’s thigh, “You’d probably feel considerably calmer if you had come in with something concrete in mind and hadn’t just asked a stranger to ‘surprise you.’”  

“Louis isn’t a stranger,” Kurt insists, steady but not defensive. “He collaborated heavily with me on my last tattoo, and pierced my tongue for free. He ripped me out of numbness during a...difficult period.” 

“I know, I remember the story,” Elliott reminds him. They’d been only acquaintances then, and very new ones at that, but Elliott hadn’t forgotten the strange joy on Kurt’s face as he’d pulled his shirt down enough to show him, voice high as he told Elliott the accompanying tale. “And is this -- are you in a difficult period now? Is that what this is about?” 

“No,” Kurt assures him, moving a hand to cover Elliott’s own (a bold move, by usual Kurt standards of PDA.) “I’m good. I just -- I don’t know. I think spending all that time a couple nights ago running my mouth down your ink-adorned arms has me craving the feeling for myself again.” 

Kurt’s tongue tips just slightly out of the corner of his mouth, an eyebrow curved suggestively. Elliott glances around, faux-scandalized.  

The appropriately saucy comment he wants to contribute in response dies in his throat when a man approaches them with arms crossed and a near-threatening confidence that immediately tells Elliott that this _has_ to be the famous Louis. Elliott lets himself be surprised by the shapely moustache curling over his lips and the studded leather gloves encasing his long hands. He’d been expecting someone a little more Kurt-like in aesthetic, somehow, someone looking like they carefully pulled themselves together every morning, not this stern-faced older man with loose-fitting clothes and haphazardly scattered tattoos, permanently slanted backwards in the perfect picture of aggressive calm.

Kurt smiles warmly at him, face turned up, body stiff and coiled as if he’s waiting for a command. He receives it in the form of a small inward wave of Louis’s leathered hand, and he springs up to follow him into a back room with a nervous smile in Elliott’s direction. Elliott stays seated for a moment, unsure whether or not he should follow, but immediately moves up with a laugh when Kurt looks back at him with a confused craning of his neck and an inviting hand gesture of his own.

They’re guided into a small, more brightly-lit room, and Kurt is directed toward a bench at the center, the covered black of Louis’s hands gripping his shoulders. There’s a throbbing electricity in the air that makes Elliott doubt again whether or not he should have followed them in, but he settles into a chair when Louis shoots him an unreadable look.  

Louis retrieves a piece of paper from his pocket, unfolding it before handing it over for Kurt to examine. Kurt’s eyes go wide as he looks down at it, lips parting into an open-mouthed O.  

“It’s perfect,” Kurt says, awed and grateful, eyes unmoving from the design before him (occluded from Elliott’s own view.) He looks up at Louis, finally, eyes glittering, and Elliott feels a little bit like he’s not even in the room. “Thank you.” 

“Thought you’d like that,” Louis’s voice is gruff and raspy but he sounds pleased, a smile sitting in the lines of his brow even as his mouth remains slack. “You wanted this on your hip?” 

“On the left side, yes,” Kurt’s hands are trembling where they’re still gripping the white sheet of paper. 

“Alright, lay on your side and slide your pants down, just enough so I can get the part you want inked.”

Kurt complies quickly, rolling onto his side and facing Elliott with a sheepish smile as he pulls the bright blue of his jeans down past the curve of his pale hip, briefs dragging along with it. Elliott smiles back supportively as Louis places the stencil down onto Kurt’s exposed skin.  

“Try not to look,” Kurt tells him, lips twisting playfully. “I don’t want you to see it until it’s on me.”  

Elliott nods, affectionately rolling his eyes. As Louis removes the stencil (Elliott keeps his eyes averted, as promised) and begins preparing the tattoo gun, Kurt widens his eyes at Elliott pleadingly, extending his hand out in quiet request. Elliott stands up to grab it reassuringly, Kurt’s skin soft and warm. He turns his back to Louis to avoid the temptation of looking down at the enigmatic design sitting on Kurt’s hip, giving Kurt’s hand a squeeze when the gun starts whirring and Kurt squirms in place.  

“Ready?” Louis asks. Kurt tilts his head to face him with a smile and a steady “ _yes_ ,” shoulders wiggling. “Stay still.”  

Elliott keeps his eyes fixed on Kurt’s face, eyes closed and his bottom lip anxiously working between his teeth.  

“It’s not even your first time,” Elliott reminds him, stroking his thumb against Kurt’s knuckle, hoping to distract him.  

“I know--- _oh_!” Kurt exclaims with a wince, before opening an eye uncertainly and laughing softly. “Oh, that’s not that bad, actually, it hurts less than last time.”

“Do you still need me to hold your hand, then?” 

“Yes.” 

Elliott laughs and remains in place, listening to the rhythmic hums of Louis’s machine and watching Kurt’s eyes flutter closed again, face pinched as he breathes hard.

It’s more intense than Elliott thought it’d be, when he’d pictured it, Kurt on his side as a tattoo artist works at him, breathing labored and the soft skin of his hand growing damp. Unable to look at the tattoo process itself, Elliott is contenting himself by staring down at Kurt’s face, flickering between looking utterly blissed out and pained, the occasional breathy exhale making Elliott’s neck go hot. It’s intimate, Kurt’s skin against his, his eyes trained on every flinch and quirk of Kurt’s pretty face. He can’t help but wish he could turn to see Louis, too, to drink in every detail of this moment. He imagines ink spreading messily over Kurt’s white naked hip and bites his lip.  

“So,” Louis says after several minutes, shattering the peaceful quiet of Kurt’s breathing layered atop the mechanical whirrings of his instrument. “Are you the boyfriend?”

“Um,” is the only reply Elliott manages, staring down at Kurt questioningly. Kurt meets his gaze with some amusement, face an apology.

 “Um,” he echoes, but his voice is light, and that’s all the comfort Elliott needs.

“Jesus, forget I asked,” comes Louis’s gravelly reply, and Elliott thinks he can _hear_ him shaking his head. Kurt giggles, then gasps, a stroke of the needle especially sharp, and the moment passes with an ease that’s almost astonishing. 

 Elliott resumes the slow stroking of Kurt’s knuckle, eyes still on his face but mind wandering elsewhere. He hadn’t seen the ‘boyfriend’ question coming, and he’s unsure what to make of it. He and Kurt had always been close, falling into the odd rhythms of one another’s lives with a nonchalance that surprised them both. It had been easy, intense but grounded, effortlessly platonic when Kurt had been unavailable, and then again when Kurt was free but Elliott otherwise occupied. 

 The moment they’d both become single, though, the ground beneath them shifted. There was no sudden, life-altering revelation, no swelling violin music, just new, crossable pathways between the two of them, unexplored tracks toward one another that had been previously untappable. That first night had made a sublime kind of sense, Elliott heartsick from his breakup, a little drunk, and Kurt itching to cheer him up. Their usual duetting had somehow led to Kurt pressing him against a wall and kissing him, sloppy and rough, giggles in his throat like he was _kidding,_ and it _had_ sort of felt like they were half-joking at first until Kurt was hard against his hip and moaning into his mouth and they both came in their pants like desperate teenagers. 

It had escalated from there, wordlessly, with no debate or explanation from either, heated makeouts and post-show blowjobs nothing more than a fresh addition to their fiery-colored friendship. _Boyfriend_ had weirdly never entered Elliott’s head, had seemed too simple a title for someone as boundary-collapsing as Kurt Hummel. 

 Looking down at him now, though, eyelashes pressed tight against the flushed pale of his cheekbone, it feels as comfortable as any other label. Elliott could be fine with that (and he could be fine with _not_ that, too, as long as he gets Kurt _somehow_.) 

 “What are _you_ thinking about?” Kurt’s voice is teasing even in its pained tightness.

 “What?” 

 “The past few times I’ve peeked up at you you’ve looked seriously spaced out.”

 “Oh,” Elliott laughs, bringing a second hand up to clasp around Kurt’s own. “I’m thinking about how _sweaty_ your hand feels in mine right now.”

 Kurt snorts at that. “You can let go, I feel reasonably confident I’ll be alright. We’re almost done anyway, I think.” 

 “ _Are_ done,” Louis corrects, and Elliott hears him apply a few finishing strokes and a couple of swipes of tissue against Kurt’s skin. Elliott holds Kurt’s hand throughout, grinning down at him. “Alright, take a look.”

 Kurt stands up instantly, sliding his pants down lower than necessary as he looks eagerly down at his newly-colored hip. 

 “Wow,” Kurt breathes. “It’s beautiful.”

 “It really is,” Elliott agrees, tearing his eyes away from the sight just long enough to shoot Louis an appreciative smile that the man doesn’t seem to register.

 The design is small, about twice the size of a quarter, sitting bold and fresh on the upper curve of Kurt’s lovely hip. It’s a skull, round and shapely and stunningly detailed, the black of its outline striking against Kurt’s pale (if currently reddened) skin. Most remarkable of all, however, are the hair-thin threads of bright color running through and across the thicker black lines of the image’s contours. It’s _mesmerizing_ , a little grim, and utterly singular: a palimpsest of death and lines and color. 

Kurt looks up at Louis with shining eyes, mouth quivering. Louis reacts with nothing beyond a slightly raised eyebrow.  

“Thank you,” Kurt tells him, gentle and splintered. “It’s breathtaking, how you do this. Like you really _see_ me.”  

“I do,” Louis replies, deep and mysterious, and Kurt just beams.

*** 

“You have a bizarrely intimate relationship with your tattoo artist,” Elliott tells him later with a laugh in his throat on the walk back to Kurt’s place. 

“Is it not that way with you and yours?” Kurt sounds a little dazed, blissful and sated, rubbing absently at his hip. 

“All mine have been done by different people, in different places.” It had never even occurred to Elliott to go back to any one of them. He loves feeling a little mismatched, covered in meaning inked by multiple sources.  

“You should have Louis do one. Let him surprise you.”  

“Yeah, maybe,” Elliott shrugs non-committally.  

Kurt’s quiet for a moment, and Elliott turns to find him eyeing him with a manic, knowing look in his eye. 

“What?” Elliott asks, unsure if he feels more amused or disarmed by the unstable look on Kurt’s face.

“Are you jealous?” Kurt lets the question hang smugly in the air for a few moments before clarifying. “Of my _bizarrely intimate_ relationship with my tattoo artist?” 

“You are high on adrenaline,” Elliott laughs, shaking his head in lieu of a real response. He doesn’t actually have a clear answer. 

“Hmm,” Kurt hums. “That’s why I’m going to do _this_.”  

Kurt takes Elliott’s hand in his, fingers laced and wrists pressed together so tightly Elliott is sure Kurt can feel his pulse quicken against him.  

*** 

Elliott’s stretched lazily across Kurt’s couch, mindlessly thumbing through an issue of Vogue as he waits for Kurt to emerge from his room. Once they’d arrived at his place, Kurt had kissed him on the cheek and mysteriously muttered something about needing some time to ‘take care of things.’ The walk home had done little to diminish the serene spark of his second tattoo experience, and Elliott hadn’t questioned him, having learned long ago that allowing Kurt space when he needs it is key to avoiding unnecessary unpleasantries.  

He’s just about to open Facebook on his phone when he hears the door of Kurt’s room swing open. The sight greeting him as his eyes snap up is so staggering his phone drops onto his chest as his limbs go numb. 

“Holy shit,” he breathes, springing up into an upright seated position, eyes wide. His phone clatters to the floor beneath him, forgotten.  

“Hey there,” Kurt drawls, a devilish smirk etched across his face.  

He’s leaning against the doorframe, one hand on his hip and his other arm tucked coquettishly behind him. He’s _naked_ , head-to-toe naked, _buck-ass_ fucking naked, and it’s the first time Elliott’s ever seen him like this, proud and tall in broad daylight with not a stitch on him. He’s only ever gotten bits and pieces at a time before, carefully selected stretches of flesh unveiled to him only as necessary to their fooling around. This is different. 

Kurt is stunning, skin rose-white and limbs willowy. His shoulders are broad, framing the soft swell of his smooth (but stubbly to the touch, Elliott knows) chest. His thighs are muscled thick, hips round and narrow, waist _tiny_. His fresh tattoo sits in a patch of reddened skin, bold and gorgeous as it looked an hour ago.  

“You’re hard,” Elliott notes lamely after a few moments of shameless staring, eyes trailing from the thin bulge of his cock up to his face (still smug and impish as ever.) 

“Very astute,” Kurt bites back, voice dry but smile widening. He glides forward, graceful and confident, stretching an arm out to fling a condom at Elliott’s chest. It hits him with a quiet thump and slides down into his lap. Elliott’s eyes remain fixed on Kurt’s nearing form throughout. 

Kurt stills once he’s about two feet away from where Elliott is seated. His face sharpens suddenly, arms crossing loosely beneath his nipples.  

“Take your clothes off,” Kurt demands, smile vanishing. “Quickly.”  

Elliott is surprised by the edge in his voice but immediately obeys, yanking his t-shirt over his head and shimmying gracelessly out of his jeans and briefs, crotch already tingling at the feel of Kurt’s steady gaze on him.  

“Good,” Kurt’s eyes flicker briefly from soft to razor-edged again. “Now sit back down and touch yourself. There’s lube beneath the cushion you’re sitting on.” 

“Beneath the--? Did you _plan_ this? Or do you just make a habit of--” 

“No questions. Just do it.” 

Elliott blinks, a touch startled, but drops down as asked, hand reaching within the couch to find the small bottle of lube that is, sure enough, waiting for him. He looks up at Kurt, awaiting further instruction, but Kurt only tightens his arms, a smile teasing at the corner of his mouth. Elliott laughs, squirts a generous amount of the lubricant onto his palm, and reaches for his own cock, eyes sliding shut as he closes his fist around himself. 

He strokes himself to full hardness, each slow, wet pull deepening the grunts forming at the back of his throat. Elliott opens his eyes to find Kurt hovering over him, eyes wide and bright, face hungry. He keeps stroking, stiff and sensitive and meeting Kurt’s gaze with his own smug self-assuredness now, watching intently as Kurt’s breath hitches and his nipples harden. 

“Come here,” Elliott whispers, smiling when Kurt swiftly crawls into his lap, thick thighs straddling Elliott’s own.  

Kurt leans in to kiss him, mouth hanging open and tongue at the ready. When he pulls away, his face is warm, grinning so wide his eyes scrunch up. 

“Hello, _lover_ ,” Kurt giggles.

“Oh, you’ve dropped the dominatrix act, thank god,” Elliott laughs, relieved. He moves a lube-sloppy hand to Kurt’s waist, winking vengefully when Kurt wrinkles his nose in disgust.

“You liked it,” Kurt huffs, bringing a hand down to Elliott’s stiff cock to punctuate the point. Elliott whines, rocking up. 

Kurt brings his face centimeters from Elliott’s own, noses nearly touching. He stares expectantly.  

“Well?” Kurt asks after a few quiet seconds. “Isn’t there something you want to talk about?”

“It definitely sounds like there’s something _you_ want to talk about,” Elliott moves to grip Kurt’s ass with a soft squeeze. 

“Not that,” Kurt waves his hand dismissively, before he drops his voice to a seductive whisper. “Not _yet_ , anyway…”

“What then?” Elliott thinks he has an idea, but there’s no way he’s bringing it up first. He smiles blankly, brushing his nose against Kurt’s, playing dumb.

“Fine,” Kurt sighs, pulling back to stare down at Elliott disapprovingly (but he can’t cover over the playful glint in his eyes.) “So, when Louis assumed you were my boyfriend earlier…” 

Elliott snorts. He _knew_ it. Kurt’s mouth tilts upward at the response, but he continues, undeterred.  

“How did that...make you feel?” 

“Hm,” Elliott pauses, considering. “I felt fine. Surprised, at first, then a little uncomfortable, but then fine again.” 

“Okay,” Kurt says, voice trailing off, clearly expecting more. Elliott snaps his mouth shut, eyes sly. When it’s clear Elliott will be saying nothing else, Kurt parts his lips, frustrated. “So...did you want it to be true, or--” 

“Kurt, if you’re asking me to be your boyfriend, all you have to do is say so,” Elliott bites back his smirk.  

“That is _not_ what is happening,” Kurt insists, affronted, naked chest puffing out. After Elliott stares pointedly for several, painful moments, Kurt deflates. “Fine. Is that, like, what we are, then, or what you _want_ us to be?”  

“What do _you_ want?” 

“Um,” Kurt mumbles, looking down to his lap. “I just don’t want anything to change.”  

“And do you think us dating would make things change?” Elliott eyes him curiously, mind and heart racing.  

“I don’t know.”  

“Neither do I,” Elliott admits. He’s comfortable with whatever it is he and Kurt have going now. He could be comfortable with anything Kurt wanted, probably. He strokes Kurt’s waist comfortingly.  

“Sorry,” Kurt shakes his head, looking suddenly embarrassed. “I should get dressed.”  

“Okay,” Elliott says, pulling his hands back immediately. Disappointment settles heavily in his chest. He’s tempted to make a frantic move to fix whatever just went wrong, but resists. The scene is fragile now, and he’s seen how quickly the warm blues of Kurt’s eyes can turn to steely greys when someone says the wrong thing at a shatterable moment. 

Kurt stands up rapidly, then pauses mid-turn. Elliott looks determinedly up at his face (leering at his now-exposed ass seems inappropriate, all things considered.) Kurt stares down at his hip for a moment, mouth moving wordlessly as he considers the new addition to his skin. He shakes his head, seemingly snapping out of something, and sits down next to Elliott on the couch, one leg curled beneath him.

“I _do_ want you to be my boyfriend,” Kurt states definitively, chin raised. 

“Okay,” Elliott says, and there it is again: heartbeat thrumming in his throat. “I would like that, too.”

Kurt’s mouth drops open, then closes again, features hardening. Elliott tries not to flinch. 

“Why didn’t you say that before, then?” Kurt asks, irritable.  

“Because I want it to be your decision,” Elliott states, bringing a tentative hand to Kurt’s thigh. When Kurt doesn’t recoil and only looks at him thoughtfully, he proceeds. “Look Kurt, I enjoy being around you. That’s been clear from day one. And given that we’re _both_ still emerging from the ruins of previous relationships, I’m just happy to _continue_ being around you, for now. However you’ll have me.” 

“Oh,” Kurt exhales, eyes misty.  

“But, yes, I’d love to make things...official, so to speak. If you’re happy with that, then, yes, absolutely. I really think this could work.”  

“Me too,” Kurt sighs, visibly relieved. “I really enjoy being around you too, for the record.”  

“You know, I divined as much,” Elliott lets his eyes run down Kurt’s naked form pointedly, grinning.  

“Sorry,” Kurt laughs, covering his face partially with a hand. “I don’t know what comes over me post-tattoo. I think the ink reaches my brain somehow.”  

“There’s really no need to apologize,” Elliott assures him with an overdone wink. 

“Well, I’m glad you feel that way,” Kurt’s voice drops, eyes narrowing. “Because I’d really like to pick up where we left off.”

Elliott’s mouth presses against Kurt’s without a second thought, crotch reawakening with every gentle collision of their tongues. He takes his cock in one hand and reaches for Kurt’s with the other, pumping both furiously as he lets Kurt’s tongue and lips take the lead. Kurt stiffens under his palm quickly, the motions of his mouth growing sloppier as he pauses to catch his breath with increasing frequency. Once he’s moaning into Elliott’s mouth, tongue stilling entirely, Elliott breaks away, intensifying the grip up and around Kurt’s dick until his eyes are rolling to the back of his head, throat exposed as he moans his name--

“Wait,” Kurt gasps, “Stop.” 

Elliott removes his hand as quickly as if he’d been burned. “You okay?” 

“Yes, _god_ , yes,” Kurt’s breathing hard, hand on his chest. “ _Too_ okay. I don’t want to come yet. I want to do something new.” 

Elliott’s eyes widen. He works at his own dick harder, back arching. “What--” 

“I want my _boyfriend_ to fuck me,” Kurt’s eyes are blazing, cheeks feverishly red. “Or rather, I want my boyfriend to lie on his back so I can sit on his cock and ride him until he’s crying.”  

“Jesus--” 

Kurt pushes him onto his back, face wild, slapping Elliott’s hand away so he can wrap his own around his cock, grip firm. Elliott moans and stretches his legs out across the length of the couch as Kurt spreads his thighs to straddle over Elliott’s hips, balancing himself with two strong hands on Elliott’s chest.  

Kurt rocks his hips back, rubbing his ass lightly against Elliott’s hard-on. He bends forward to suck at Elliott’s neck, teeth and tongue alternating between teasingly soft and bruisingly hard. Elliott is gasping for air, hips rolling, cock and skin alight as he grips the hard flesh of Kurt’s thighs, fingernails digging in.  

Kurt’s hot mouth trails up to Elliott’s ear, tongue flicking the lobe before he babble-hisses “ _I’m already wet and open for you, prepared earlier in my room, been thinking about you inside me all day_ ” into it, the combined content and visceral feel of the words dripping down Elliott’s neck like lava, leaving him incoherent and so desperate to feel Kurt around him his eyes sting. 

“Kurt, fuck, please--”  

With a final nip at his earlobe, Kurt pulls back, back straightening as he rests the soft globes of his ass onto Elliott’s belly, pressing his weight down gingerly.  

“Where’d you put the lube and condom?” Kurt asks, looking around, voice throaty.  

“I think they fell to the ground when you manhandled me onto my back,” Elliott manages to get out, taking Kurt’s momentary distraction as an opportunity to catch his breath.  

Kurt turns to inspect the floor and mumbles a quiet “ _aha_ ” when he spots them, bending forward and over the edge in an undoubtedly uncomfortable position that has the benefit of giving Elliott full view of his perky ass.  

Re-emerging quickly with the required items in hand, Kurt turns to face him once more, quickly rolling the condom onto Elliott before he reaches back between his thighs to squeeze lube onto his cock, messily missing the mark on the first try and waving the bottle around frantically until the stream makes contact and Elliott hisses.  

Kurt lets the lube drip torturously slowly down Elliott’s cock before he spreads it with his palm, eyes on Elliott’s face, a smile on his lips. 

“Your phone was down there too,” Kurt mentions, casual, like Elliott isn’t grunting through his teeth and squirming beneath him. “I appreciated the way you dropped it when I sauntered in, by the way, that was a flattering touch.” 

Elliott laughs, breathless. “It was a bold, unexpected move-- _fuck_!” 

Kurt grins, now seated precariously on the tip of Elliott’s dick, the head encased within the slippery heat of his pinched ass cheeks. He can feel Kurt’s hole twitching right against his tip, lube-slick and hungry.  

“Ready?” Kurt asks, pushing down gently. 

“For the love of fuck, Kurt, yes.” 

Smiling, Kurt closes his eyes and sinks down, a long, low moan hitting the air as the tip slides in with some difficulty. Elliott gasps, grasping onto Kurt’s hip with a body-thrilling jolt as the tight pressure of Kurt’s hole grips him, wildfire-hot and scary-tight. 

Elliott looks up, chest tight, awed by the magnificent sight of Kurt above him: eyes closed, the petals of his lips spread wide open as he glacially descends, slim and large and utterly fucking beautiful.  

“You’re so big,” Kurt sighs, and Elliott watches as his ruddy lips stretch and contract around the words, head falling further back, more and more of that long elegant milk-white neck exposed. “My hole has been aching for this, ever since that first time I blew you,” Kurt sinks down a centimeter further with a shuddering intake of breath. “My jaw had to adjust to the width of you -- never seen one so -- _ah_ \-- thick before.”  

“Kurt, oh my god,” Elliott whimpers as the squeeze of Kurt’s ass envelops more of him, the memory of that first sloppy blowjob making him throb. Kurt had been so _eager_ , surprised by the sight of him, struggling with the entirety of Elliott’s (admittedly considerable) length in his mouth but pushing through and emerging like a pro, a fingertip digging into Elliott’s crack as he pulled away just in time to let Elliott come all over his sweat-damp face, mouth still hanging open. 

“There was a second where I was scared I wouldn’t be able to take it,” As Kurt sinks lower, his words grow foggier, high-pitched breaths filling the spaces between syllables. “Thought I might gag, the tip of you poking at my throat,” Kurt’s voice gets softer, like a caress, the contours of every word licking up Elliott’s spine. “But I did it, I _took_ you, all of you-- jaw and throat stinging--” 

The flexing suck sinks further down, Kurt’s ass so full he’s nearly seated on Elliott’s hips. Words and thoughts fail Elliott, body reacting where his mind cannot, fingers digging into Kurt’s ass and waist hard enough to puncture skin.  

 “And I’m taking you again-- finally-- where I _really_ wanted you--” Kurt is as far down as he’s able to get, twitching tight around Elliott’s full length, exhales turned to whimpers, beads of sweat dripping down his neck. “So big, god, not going to -- _ungh_ \-- be able to take a step for days without feeling you inside me all over again,” Kurt is hovering still, ass cheeks grazing Elliott’s hips as he minutely swivels, adjusting.  

Elliott is making broken hacking noises he can’t contain, Kurt clenching willfully hard around him in arrhythmic slippery pinches that make his eyes sting. Kurt’s ass feels _incredible_ , muscles strong and deliberate. Elliott thinks he could lie here forever, just feeling Kurt clamp and loosen around him, an erratic drumbeat of mouth-watering pleasure.  

Eyes fluttering closed, Elliott loosens his grip on Kurt’s skin with a contented sigh, something almost like sleepiness settling behind his forehead. He’s moaning softly, Kurt’s luxuriously slow motions slackening his limbs.  

“Comfortable?” Kurt’s voice is soft, almost ominous.  

Elliott opens an eye just in time to see Kurt shooting up with no warning before slamming back down with a strangled cry, head thrown back and hair bouncing with him.  

Elliott sees _stars_.  

There’s an “ _oh my god_ ” still tumbling out of his howling mouth when Kurt ascends again, fast and slippery, face pained as he gorges himself downward once more, exquisite tight smooth pressure running down Elliott’s shaft and up his spine, the smothering clasp of Kurt’s hole stiffening his muscles as he unconsciously strains up, needing to be closer, buried deeper.  

Downtempo forgotten, Kurt is jacking up and down inhumanly fast, thighs in his muscles bulging as he encases Elliott’s cock in dilating-then-contracting warmth with every frantic thrust down. Elliott is helpless beneath him, dick sensitive and body coiled so tight he feels ready to pop, screaming fragments and obscenities as Kurt sucks him up inside, harder and deeper, back arching periodically to change the angle until Kurt is shrieking with him. 

“Oh god-- fuck yes-- Elliott-- I feel you _everywhere--_ like you’re hitting-- a chord inside me--”  

High-pitched moans spill out of Kurt’s mouth, debauched and utterly shameless, his long body spasming with every rough plunge. Elliott looks up to find him bent back, back arched so dramatically Elliott can’t even see his face, just the razor-sharp line of his jaw and his soaked, sex-flushed body, the black-and-rainbow burst on his hip a blur of pigment as he moves, up in the air then slammed against Elliott’s hips, picking up speed and breathing Elliott’s name like it’s all that’s keeping him going, and when his long arm reaches down to wrap a hand around his own cock it’s only seconds until he’s coming, globs of sticky come warm on Elliott’s stomach, the smell of it making his balls tighten as Kurt screams his way through orgasm, body thrashing while Elliott steadies him with a hand and rolls up into him. 

Kurt slumps forward, elbows falling at Elliott’s sides, bent over him with his face only a few inches away, drops of sweat dripping down his reddened nose and falling onto Elliott’s neck. He’s panting, broken rattling sounds, the muscles of his ass now loose and pliant around Elliott’s cock, still twitching.  

Elliott lies still for several moments, bringing a hand to Kurt’s waist and relishing in the _feel_ of him: his velvety insides, the softness of his skin, the smell of his come and sweat and dampened hair product. His eyes are closed, mouth open, a soft laugh tickling at Elliott’s ears once Kurt’s breathing has slowed. Kurt looks as euphoric as he had earlier, directly post-tattoo, and when his eyes slide open, shocking blue framed in long wet lashes, Elliott can feel the warmth in them, his own eyes stinging as Kurt gives him a shy smile.

“Your turn,” Kurt whispers, dropping to press his sweet lips at Elliott’s throat.  

Elliott’s so overworked the brush of Kurt against him makes him tremble, the nerves in his neck shooting to his cock. He thrusts his hips down-then-up before he can think, shallowly fucking into Kurt’s stretched-out hole.

“This okay?” Elliott asks, voice in splinters, thighs shaking. 

“Mmm, yes, come on, fuck into me,” Kurt encourages him with a wiggle of his hips, giving Elliott’s neck a toe-curling lick and gasping delightedly when Elliott repeats his thrusting motion, bolder this time.

Kurt is staring at him intently, eyes wide, face more _open_ than Elliott’s ever seen it, body letting Elliott in as he plunges in and out and up and down, returning Kurt’s gaze, grunting between his teeth as the exquisite pressure building up inside him escalates, unbearably so, Kurt winking around him and hissing softly with each thrust. 

“Here, let me,” Kurt breathes when Elliott whimpers in exhaustion, sitting back up and rolling his hips. 

Elliott lets himself drop back down against the cushion beneath him and moans as Kurt takes the reins again, bouncing on his cock with breathy mewls, tired and sore but pushing through for Elliott, so hot, so tight--

When Kurt reaches down to rub at a nipple with a vigorous downward push, Elliott’s straining chest rises as everything goes black and he comes with staggering force, emptying out into the condom-sheathed groove of Kurt’s quivering ass, soft yells in his throat, muscles screaming.

Kurt drops down once more, wet chest sitting against Elliott’s own, shifting until Elliott’s limp cock slides out of him with a plop, laughing again at the sound and feel of it. Elliott wraps his arms around him, pulling him tighter, craning his neck up to lazily kiss his plump lips, heartbeat pounding. 

“You’re fucking amazing,” Elliott babbles into his mouth, gasping. “Life-changing good.” 

Kurt’s laugh shifts into a pleased smirk. 

“I know,” he exhales, voice light. “I feel very strongly that you should buy me dinner to reward me for my altruistic efforts.” 

“Just give me an hour to find the will to move my limbs again,” Elliott laughs, moving a hand down to the fleshy swell of Kurt’s ass because, fuck it, he _can_.  

“I’m really…” Kurt trails off, looking suddenly shy. When Elliott drops his head back to raise an eyebrow at him, Kurt smiles. “I’m really _happy_. That we’re doing this.” 

“Me too,” Elliott grins back up at him, a joyous twist in his stomach. “We deserve this.” 

“We do,” Kurt agrees, beam widening, and, _god_ , he’s beautiful.  

“I think I am going to go to Louis. Let him surprise me,” Elliott squeezes an ass cheek fondly. “He deserves a ‘thank you,’ for this.”

“Oh, yes, please,” Kurt looks thrilled, eyes sparkling. “I look forward to running my tongue over it.”  

“Well, with _that_ as an incentive, I’m going to call him right now. Get me my phone?” 

Kurt makes a whining noise but gets up to retrieve it where it’s still lying on the floor. He’s about to hand it over when he pauses, a devilish slant to his features.

“Okay, but you have to change your relationship status on Facebook first.” 

“Oh god,” Elliott sighs in feigned regret. “What have I signed myself up for?”

“The very best,” Kurt declares, dropping Elliott’s phone down onto his chest with a smirk and bringing their lips together before Elliott has the chance to say “ _oh, I know_.” 

 


End file.
